Going back
is a Fool's
Paradise

Its un-
truth is
its
Per
Fec
Tion

the delicate
bead
of your kiss

A tongue
enunciating
what the
present
Can Be

makes
it all

So Clear
Worth
while
Good
night

but not
Good
bye

to us
maybe
but
You and I

still stand
strong
think
clear-
ly

have twisting
desires
guns
in our backs

for some tattered
and tear-stained
piece of Truth

We cannot
be
Con
Tained

within the realm
of
Re
Collec
Tion

Let us bleed
out
into the
frightening
cold

of our stark
Day
Light
Dreams

Jesus, I own
thoughts that
align me
with you!

You are
a confusing cup
of cigarette tea

And we
are working
to let

our meat
be malleable
our minds
supple and
our tongues
agile

in the warm
embrace of
the other's

Mouth
Heart
Eyes
Another

universe
of dangerous
Pos
Si
Bi
Lity

To hell
with Duality!

The past
is Simplicity!

**** what is
wrong
Know what is
Right

and live to see
the probability
of Tonight

fuzzy-eyed humpers

baby-headed jumpers

I don't need you going

out on a ledge

flipping your lids

life on the skids

because of those things

that you did

that one time in Redondo

or was it Hollywood/Skid Row or

that other time in SoHo

flouncing from one news spread

to the next

has-been cloud-head

holed up in a windowless basement

tea shades on sprawled out on the unmade bed

of some formerly artsy tenement

tacked up jazz poster of the

suicided former resident

a good friend of someone

we'd all met

at Jack's or Jerry's

or Phil's or Joe's

or Fred's

I wanna say ghost crumple but fear the retribution for assuming something other than

something I vaguely remember no that's a downright lie as flagrant as a flag flapping

in defiance I remember so well as if branded by that moment scalded by my focus

your post-****** scent and that smile in both your eyes and your own cascading

laughter the honest laugh done in private when truly experiencing wonder and the

baby smell in the crater where your neck joins your skull to that body your body

young and heavenly unspoilt like a river's passion cresting itself and returning to

your carefully manicured shores I wanna say paper cut but anticipate the ache the

burn that will cause me my body my brain my heart we called it spleen in previous

times something other in the future no doubt in my mind my heart my body the echo

of recollection of a different color and a different flavor than the original worn into

something other by the abrasions of both time and nostalgia a different shape all

together taken by this memory but its intensity a twin identical and more perfect in

reflection of your reflection in a sunlit moment the denim blue of curtains unable to

contain the refraction sliced delicate by the broad leaves and your bare skin still

glowing from a washing and a shaving and you are lost in your own reflection

humming songs and curling your hair bleached shocking white with blonde intention

natural roots so Nancy Spungen but more or less that much more careless and

ruthless a thing you were in that moment only I couldn't and didn't know it I wanna

say please just leave it, but I daren't and I shouldn't and at the time I couldn't couldn't

bear to think it but really just like cancer I just knew it and I didn't and you didn't and

we stood there and I wanna say we let it but we didn't and it happened and now it's

just reflection recollection and despair

You are the pleasing smell of Chinese grease
I am the invisible motivation to frolic in the fountain

You are a stranger's giggle &
an invitation to dance

I am a Cabaret Voltaire 12"
& half a clove cigarette

You are the diaphanous nature
of auburn clouds at twilight

I am the woman who raised you
but never dared speak your name

You are that familiar left shoe
abandoned on the roadway
never finding its twin

I am an expectant evening
after an expectant morning
spent talking on the phone

You are the receiver
the near-silent listener
the breather of shared truths

I am the walker the watcher
the faint scent of prawns
near the dumpsters at work

You are a newborn angel
a pageant of colors & functions

I am a poet, no matter
where you find me
lost on a street corner
that I'll never own

You are a plane ticket, yes
only one way to answer

I am a handstamp still worn
but only as a reminder

You are the fairy lights
strung between broken
promises only barely remembered
after a night washed in ***

I am a cluster of strangers, drunk & excited
We are the gift of mystery, alone at the table

We are mutual, the future
the last to be opened

We are the mission completed
the present grown tall

unwanted and rudderless

on another underground Sunday

flub-dubbing my way

through the weeks

the months lost

like episodes of shows

I don’t watch anyway

lately few words come to me

fewer thoughts stay

landing for a moment

on my wires

then gradually

but inevitably

fluttering away

my hands

the only birds who stay

busy doing other things

driving cars

flicking lighters

rarely touching anyone

mainly holding tight

for another

friendly fire fight

the train I’m on rocks

and roars me through

tunnels dug by

dead men

“Make things beautiful,”

she said. “Yes,”

they all agreed.

“Yes, make beautiful

things, not ugly things.

Stop making ugly things,

stop making things ugly.”

they clucked their tongues

shaking their heads side-

to-side their eyes staring

not moving and disapproving

overcharged black cat clocks

over my tiny shoulders

another attempted monster

someone scary on my paper

meant to be scary

a werewolf or a vampire

a cut-up human monster

pencil lines infused with the

pressure of wanting

to make real

to be taken

seriously little hands

shaking

The biggest secrets we keep

we never give voice to

our lips never pull taut across them

our bowstrings’ quivering arc

over an ivory expanse

but there are words for them, sure

deflated or still deflating

no air filling them up

unborn they marinate

inside a secret pool

our other mouth

making them daily

kneading them into truths

whispered ever deeper into us

still deeper than

any other human can hear,

smell, see, or taste

coming off the tongue

casual and leaping

as laughter

never that steam lifting

wafting, floating

forever out of you

Crushing out handclaps like cigarettes
white noise whispering from each speaker
song long over but the melody lingers
codas in my mind, over the reports of car alarms
and muffled conversation
loose plastic groans of the office chair

Another clean night viewed thru slanted blinds
cold feet bare on ashy shadow carpet
smoke in the air, streetlights slit in beams
memory slips, hands type toward
a dreamlike place, some lost day

I set it straight
crippling nonsense intense
packed tight with grilled cheese and avocado
Cazadores and cranberry push back sleep
tiny cardboard boxes fill me
******* fluidity, one brown duck
among the aggressive others
that look on your face
riding a rusted bike on your birthday
your smile luminescent
around the lake and then

perhaps a beer and a hug
potential tumescence grabbed and poked
eating rusty water from an old brown glass
leave a leather letter, a leather gun in hand
garter belt memory, a trombone face
a cardboard avocado, a lost refrain

1
When you extend
time changes into words
reaches toward common history

Inspect your saga
motivations for doing
anything

inflating bike tires
handstands on the grass
riding the night train home
scrawling a drunken note



2
surprise registry
sorrow spreading like dank fire
under the skin of your face
the piano calls

"rattle columbo skee-dazzle"
now wave them around
hypnotic and sincere
you must believe

in the something I'm transmitting
up the live wires
into a collective hive
or down by the rustling dumpsters



3
cast off shells
spent nutrition and supplements
inform a blood ooze
"I can't, I just can't"

gurgling on a blanket of blood
one arm waving
half a pincher bug
electricity still making it happen

another loop of living
purely motion driven
without purpose
the body stays and stays



4
the mind burns and slips
another dark portal
born voyager
bon voyage-r

out of cleaner hands
rough with hairy splinters
combine powers
find a way off this rock



5
vortex of hand-woven sediment
chambray and needlepoint
tiny backstitched leaves, flowers
sang a little song while he did it:

"Ol' brown poesy,
something something Alabama"
"Shut up, Kid!"
waving, eyes wilder

his blood comes out
more and more
glistening cough
thick bubbles of dark



6
paint the hard stroke
his pained face
get back from it, step out
of his way

his oncoming fate
panic burned streets
camps springing up
fingerfuls of air

"I just can't, I can't"
a weak wave, he lays back down
other words too far from the surface
he waves



7
his hands tremble
spent impulses
so natural
the soul slips

gears burn out
the metal whines and snaps
the straps are off and he is gone
rabbit's foot bound

now a blur in cosmic space
flashing toward a diamond planet
inference of his purpose
light-years for comprehension

to the tune of guitars, mandolins,
bagpipes, cheap coke & hairspray
Freighters crest the punk-washed waves
the sun shines out
unaware and uncaring
Our tiny animal foibles
behemoth sub-audible
military choppers
chop the air
The air, no offense, much better
on it's own
sans commentary or guitar-fueled breaks
the promise of returning surf
silent acceptance by rock and sand
Again and again, we return
and it returns to greet anew the day
again the sun and
more importantly, the moon

And here, right here I am
phone calls and photographs be ******
to live, to breathe, and be free
this is the gift we share
the covenant we acquiesce to
life's contract:
Be here now
and then be gone
Good work done
and done again

to acknowledge human order
to rever and accept
to create, not destroy
despite what might have come before
or will come again after
Be ****** or choose not to
This is our secret
our secret treasure
kept right here
within earshot of the bored gods
spread out like bleached wood
our foibles, our suspicions,
our struggles
our gallant moments
in sunlight or in shade
we persevere and
look **** good doing it

Oh, the momentary glory
The ecstasy of our
reciting invincibility to one another
like religion or science
we accept it and trust it
and, therefore, it is true
if only for a moment

the laughter subsides
and what does it leave us?
the exhalation of waves
on shores unnamed

Things we hold so close, so near
clenched with inescapable fear
that this might suddenly end
lights out, curtain down
a dejected sigh, a knowing frown

This great place, this great land
Oh, the metal in my days
and in my hands
There was a time when
I would worry, I would fret
and wonder at what
each gesture meant
But now so much more I know
of the secret songs of our beloved coast

to think that somehow
we can digest all this
parse everything that befalls
such a joke, it is to laugh
in the shade of the cove
far from the mast
It is no joke, but more
to laugh, not to cry,
nor cower back

OOF! WHOO!
sunning & living & loving
just so
It is our way and all that we know
amid handclaps & footfalls
among cliff faces & sheer falls
we shine so solitary
& bright among the world
and its fashions

The thrill of standing so tall
against inhuman scale
its momentary humor
our highlights & travails

So much meat to manipulate
against surf & sail
from the privilege of the cove
friendship against the rocks
winds and darkness
Huddle, you beloved masses, huddle

The schooners schooning
the bay accepting
lucky our lives absorbing
the glory, yes
the glory, I said it
THE GLORY
of living today
like a grown-up
with a robot with its
hand up

Oh, the exertion
of simply being human!
Constructs of strobe lights
& nonesuch!
We claw, we dance,
we construct the armature
of the ridiculous!
We strive, we fall, we climb
imagined walls
What excellent detritus!

And now the chill descends
the shade the cove knows
only as a friend

I sit alone
construct these lines
wishing for lost loves
amid shade, sand & brine
sunken mermaids in my mind

I love the threat
they present
For me, ironically,
it's all in words
I share the secrets
that the tide keeps
in surf & loam

I look at technology
& I look away
that's how I know
I'm human
how I know
I'm not completely lost
not completely
without animal

All we can hope for
a pumpkin at sunset
& not being pathetic
with people that love us

Yes, it's a lot
good weather and foul
beacon of human remembrance
It's all we can ask for & should

(Oh, Dan Langton
how much you've simply
taught me
thru words, sure
but just as much through
sly looks & laughs

Portland you're all
houses and woods
and there's always ****
to do: so tender
to women "Beat me!
Oh Bob, beat me!")

& Motorhead prevails
on the Golden Gate coast
away from the campground
our shared & secret cove

O Demetrius, must you pass
cracked in pieces of
less than half
A stutter-step,
a flourish of anguish?

Is there no other way
to get others to give?
To get away
with a scream
a fake laugh?

O otherworldly psychic
street map of distress
if only your loop turned
and brought you back
from the middle of the street

wild-eyed you shriek
your backpack split
to the yellow-toothed freaks
traffic and flashing lights
an orchestra of heat

O Demetrius,
dance the worst dance
that humans do:
The Outcast
unwanted, misconstrued

Harbinger of discord
unlike the others
the streets hold
You're a dusted angel
with a busted wing

It comes out

or through

holes like eyes

or windows,

film screens or beams

of light that dance

crossing from past to

cars passing, passed

Your footfalls marking

time or distance

paired like wings

moving air

and sometimes light

Nothing seen

but images

like exhalations

left to fill spaces

unseen until now

pens down,

heads out

at the bottom of a stagnant lake
lived a dead forest
black trunks standing
knuckle deep in muck
branches simply armature
for a fluttering array
of gray scarves
blowing in the watery wind
molds and aquatic plant life
growing quieter in near darkness
the forest laid down years ago
gave up the sun and the breezes
the same arguments from the same birds
slid back toward the sandy edge
then gradually leaned over
one after another they followed
under the forgiving cover
of progressively longer nights
a very slow migration
the stars really weren’t watching
eventual full immersion
nothing left uncovered
but the land around the lake
the gray water always present
became all any tree could remember
oxygenating the murk for a while
the contradictions grew
in place of leaves
instead of hopeful young twigs
stanchions indicating nothing
huddled together under the surface
standing sunken in an air more dense
a different kind of time passing
light arriving but
only in soft whispers

what horrors this life gives

so much about taking orders

so little about what we need

our tiny hands swollen since birth

singed or still burning

hitting each other

all of us skinned raw

hurting ourselves with our hungers


so much for what we want

so little left here to live on

this browser crawling around

the dissipating web

like hands together

this browser funding

some kind of hypothesis attachment


our phones our miniature worlds

each of us lives a tiny little bit

in supposition our hands together

our knitted brows turned out

hitting each other

striking out


holding on fractionally

threadbare moments

of bedroom magnitude

bedroom moments

of threadbare magnitude



empty touching

we still live in

no joy left in

simply leaving a light on

pitching our voices thus and so

as if we had any ideas

as if we knew something


alone we can imagine

this is somehow grand

imagine ourselves

acting as if this is all

so impossibly grand

The words we employ

the words we turn to use

promise only a future

fraught with lies

roped in disappointments

can we know by touch alone?

by the feelings that leak out sideways

this jam crusted

with resentment and regret

mortar made of songs

we never sing out loud

but rather hum nervously

with our knees and our fingers?

contemplate this rising

like the damp heat of exhalations

these illuminated promises we weave

pulling words out of our hair in sleep

our fingers wander

dreaming a keyboard

filled with other peoples’ stories

other peoples’ laughter

like street light

glancing off your windshield

like unclaimed tears

I fill you to overflowing

to the point at which

capacity gives out like a memory

reworked and patched

mended with quick stitches

and sewn-in forgetfulness

I could say I don’t remember

I could blame Jack Spicer’s birds, sure

but there’s a really simple way of distilling moments

let them drop rhythmically like forgotten intimacies

drop down their wind-saddened words

to stand awkwardly together

just across from us

like old buildings

pulled halfway down

A third burlesque birth

cycles compressing rather

than breaking down

the gray that comes

both from age

& slow destruction

crept onto

your meager plate

a palette bereft of

careless expectation

of the finer things

the caviar of

smearing hip hop

tinny as tinsel

all out of season

the shimmer

a mere smear of

wind bent conversation

“You’re the shrink wrap on my string cheese,“

he said from his knees, to no one in particular,

incorporating slanguage under the horns, but

over the bass, knowing what disco turned into.

You’re like Chinese food

for my ****

dropped off in a

slightly soggy box

hidden wrapped

in brown paper

like you’re ashamed

***** secret fortune cookie

cracking up at the bottom

slurping you already

I pay the man

What if all we got was a looping tidal wave sound
A polar sunburn and some wind some rusted out
cans of Burma-Shave™
washed up on a plastic island of castaways
crush crush crush the waters say all around us

salted and dried as weeks old cod we lay prone
waiting for something to change enough to reveal
visible evocations toward our unknown end

at one time we all sat alone with blank paper
a typewriter a quiet settling of the air around us
all around our one desk lamp our flashing thoughts
changes that pushed us closer to one another
uncomfortably tighter
a state of blind containment we called it

our holding pen comprised of someone's shrunken head
vessel of complacent restraint
it came with no brain
only lights out of our control
they yelled "LIGHTS OUT!" and just like magic
we fell asleep right where we laid

adrift we still float with no chance of credible response
the only organic matter our own bodies
in Tyvek™ in plastic or polyester
latex weather-worn and lost its gleaming
bottles that don't scuff like glass

the next day we awake and another dolphin has
run amok gone to a distant place leaving
a tangled lump of chewed carcass
under the lip of plastic six-pack brambles
the sharp edges of filigreed netting
that make up our beaches

holding the layers of rotting animals
which fuel the constant bumping
the nosing the prodding
of anything carnivorous in the sea around us
anything wanting more than its fair share of meats
anything willing to come tangle with our undercarriage

in the cold darkness of singular contemplation
no shade ever other than perhaps a shredded tarp
whipping the back of the un-seeable wind
tapping our legs with its rusted grommets
compelling us to think of a speed we no longer know

how much longer can we continue to have hope
continue to have a lust to linger ever longer
through the terror the exhaustion the exposure
through the horrors of survival
at a range closer than any would like to imagine

don't fall down a hole of your own making
the sea birds laugh down upon us
don't pray for dark water or weather
when you can't look away
can't swim beyond this unmapped mass
this destination

the ocean tries to act like it doesn't give a ****
but we lay prone we listen to her groaning
beneath us a depth of worlds we can't be in
beneath us like around us the conditions are unstable
we wander without intention without compass
without hoping we continue our mission